George's Glory

It is SO hard being the littlest one some days. The big kids get to do this and that and go to school and come home and, and, and . . . . sigh.

Yesterday, George, who has barely cried more than a half-minute in his whole life, pitched a colossal fit. After having done a very big-boy job at preschool orientation, we dropped off his sister, and HE had to stay with Mom.

Insult to injury, I am sure that is how he felt.

Being a third child myself, I had a plan in place. Of course, I have explained to him that he will attend only every OTHER day, Wednesday and Friday, but that is a tricky concept at two. (Although he mentioned on Monday that we only go to gymnastics on Tuesday, which is correct, so who really knows?)

When we returned to the car yesterday, George and I had a conversation.

“George, you do start school tomorrow. I think you need your very own backpack.”

George nodded, but didn’t look up.

“Let’s go shopping now for a backpack, okay George?”

“A packpack AND a lunchbox.”

Two year olds are rather good negotiators.

“Of course, a lunchbox too, that is a great idea, George.”

So, this morning, George was more than ready to go to school. We did buy him a backpack, but could not find a suitable lunchbox. In mid-September, all that is left are Power Rangers and Barbie. I very rarely buy anything syndicated, even the “Thomas the Train” shirts we have were purchased by Grandma. So, with great fortune, Gladys offered up her favorite lunchbox (which is plain blue) and used her other one (which has Rosie the Riveter on it).

George happily put on a collared shirt and proper shorts and a belt. I even gelled his hair, just like his I do for his big brother before school. He is a very big boy on his first day of school.

“I ride the bus,” he said clearly from the front porch.

“No, not the bus, Gladys doesn’t ride the bus either.”

“I ride the red minivan.”

“That’s right.”

On the way to school, Gladys asked where we are going. She always does that.

“Preeeeschool!!” George replied, “I go to PREEEEEschool!”

“Yes, we are going to preschool.”

Gladys carried George’s backpack (he carried the lunchbox) and helped him find his classroom. She delighted in ‘showing him the ropes’ so much she was late to her own beloved classroom.

It was when he put his lunchbox up on the cart that he saw it.

“I have Lightning McQueen snack!”

“No, George, that belongs to another boy in your class. You have a blue snack.”

“I want Lightning McQueen snack,” he said it clearly, with passion, but no tears.

“We didn’t get a lunchbox yet. Should we find a Lightning McQueen lunchbox?”

“Yes, Lightning McQueen!” He said emphatically, of course, but without crying.

“Okay, we buy one,” I replied.

George took off his shoes, put them neatly next to each other, and ran into the gym.

“Preschool house you wear shoes?”

“Yes, George, you wear shoes in preschool.”

He put them back on.

“Love you, George. See you later, Buddy.”

As I headed for the door, one of his teachers touched my shoulder.

“Do you think he’ll be okay?”

“Oh, yeah, he’ll be fine, at least until I come to pick him up.”

And, I’ll be fine too, once I find a Lightning McQueen lunchbox.